Waiting for Rebirth
by HattaPanza
Summary: Jane is about to give birth for the first time. The Rochesters wait for the imminent moment to come. Unfinished. There will be an epilogue.
1. Pacing

"How long?" he said with some impatience.

"Not long." Jane answered, speaking from behind the great belly that loomed before her, towered above her, lying on the bed fully clothed and outside the covers. In the last months, the ones approaching the great event, it had become exceedingly difficult to function at her full capacity the whole day long, and at least one nap was necessary every afternoon to compensate for this extraordinary lack of energy. She was warm despite the delicate chill of early spring. "You remember what he said, just a matter of days."

Edward paced the room; his restlessness over the last few weeks had increased ten-fold and appeared to be nearing its pinnacle. Jane would be having the child in a matter of days - his child, _their_ child. She was lovely, tired and absolutely serene, the possibility of death, of stillbirth, of pain completely absent from her face. He knew death did not frighten her. Her faith in God was indelible, and when her time had come, he knew she would willingly and without quarrel submit to His mercy. It was one of the things he admired most about her: her untiring love of God and hope for the best. But Edward also knew that the possibility of their child never seeing life secretly terrified her. How could it not? It would devastate them both if the thing they both wanted most - the creation of this new life that fused the two of them in one, a child - was ripped away from them the moment it was given, at the height of long-developed anticipation. Edward did not possess the same, untiring faith as she, and prayed to God that He would remember the trials they had ultimately faced and revered with humility and would give them this child without too much trouble or worry.

His brow furrowed in concentration and, perhaps, anxiety. Jane watched her husband, amused, as he spanned the length of the room over and over again, and she smiled. "Very soon your child will be born, sir, and you will be able to see them for yourself." Jane beckoned him over to her side a minute and held his wrist. "Your pulse is rapid, Edward - calm yourself." She nearly laughed but tried to retain an air that was reposeful and soothing, restoring tranquility by example.

Edward found he could hardly contain himself - it _was_ exciting. Waiting to see those tiny, little features was virtually unendurable considering a short time ago he did not think he would ever see the faces of his children. Now he was merely days away from the realization of this one time impossibility. He wondered who it would look like, he or Jane? But he couldn't think of that now.

"Don't you fear the pain, Jane? I hate to imagine you suffering in that way. Aren't you afraid of the…possibilities?" He nearly shuddered. He watched her and squinted, looking for some change of expression, some indication that she _did _fear it. He would almost regret putting her in this position if he did not want the child so badly himself. Her face, though, remained placid and at ease. She rolled onto her side to face him and curled into a nearly fetal position.

Edward paused for a moment in his anxious pacing. Soft, silver light came through the window and revealed little, dispersed flakes of snow spiraling to the ground outside. Jane answered, "No, I trust in God." She smiled at him again, a demure little stretch of the mouth. Jane could see the evident anxiety in his eye; never before had he expressed so much concern. "I thought you did too. God will do what is right." Nearly every moment during her pregnancy he had been at her side, always with her, tenderly and gently making love to her, sweetly, fastidiously attending to her needs. This softness and this strange sentimental level of compassion was quite uncharacteristic of the once harsh and hostile man, but it was always very genuine and very heartfelt and never unwelcome. "Yes, it will be painful, but it is a pain I'm willing to endure. Think of the reward, Edward. Did what the doctor have to say frighten you?" She laughed heedlessly, but she knew his answer would be grave.

"Yes, Jane." He heard the strained tension in his own voice. Only an hour or two before, the doctor had come for a routine visit and had explained to them as delicately, but as accurately and as realistically as possible, all that the birthing process entailed. "I had not quite anticipated the time and the messiness that would go along with it all." Edward stopped; his feelings were poignant. He sat down on the bed next to her and placed his hand on her belly. The skin was taut, smooth underneath her clothes. He could feel the vague movements within. He smiled, "I worry too much about you – you are too good for death. Nothing can ruin you. I should follow your example, Janet, and have some faith."

"Yes, you should."

She was so strong; she was so certain. Always pure and pious Jane never faltered, never feared the unknown. "The child of Jane Eyre will be the embodiment of virtue, passion and no doubt a relentless intellect."

"I could say the same for you. You have your own goodness, Edward. I would not have married you if you didn't," she smiled, "The child of Edward Rochester will be equally as passionate and headstrong and intelligent. Your child will have a great many talents; perhaps they will inherit your voice. No doubt, they will be an exceptional performer."

Edward laughed, "My goodness only exists for you, and _your_ child will possess just as many talents."

"Perhaps. I only hope that they find as much happiness as we have found. We have been very fortunate in that respect."

"Yes, though, _I_ only hope, Janet, that they will not have to suffer so much before hand." Silence fell for a moment as they acknowledged mutual sympathies. They contemplated the hand they had each been dealt in life, how far they had come since their first meeting. They each thought of their new life, finally rhythmic, happily routine, and relaxed in transient satisfaction. They lived solely for each other and were content with that. Edward kissed her hand, and, in deference to the bleary, gently pale circles under her eyes, rose and strode towards the door. Before walking out, he stopped to take his leave, "Excuse me, Jane; I'll leave you to rest."

"Do not worry yourself so much, Edward. All will be well in the end."

Edward left her and walked downstairs to the parlor. He sat in the familiar chair by the hearth and waited for God to deal his next hand. Still worrying, he took out a cigar and lit it. What else was there to do besides wait?


	2. Novelty

Three days passed without change.

Edward Rochester slumped into an armchair weary, feeling content to just sit unmolested for a few minutes in the quiet, rustic library of Ferndean. All here was orderly and pleasant. Next to him was the side table, and on it sat a single, derelict book, one he had never seen before. It was beautiful: old, flawlessly bound, the leather battered but dignified. Curiosity peaked, for presumably it was something Jane had selected earlier and, for some reason unknown, abandoned it, he picked it up and, squinting, tried to read a line-"The vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space,--that reservoir of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries…" It was no use; reading was still difficult and painful. Edward sighed. Ignoring his slight feelings of discouragement, he observed the graceful effect of the room. The sun shone sublimely over the furnishings and vast expanse of volumes spanning the entirety of the east wall. It illuminated the books, the hundreds of books that sat tucked away on shelves, housing endless quantities of knowledge sought and coveted by he and Jane. They seemed to say _here, enlighten yourselves, for that is how you may find peace._

Edward got up and walked over to the bookcase. Every boldface title brought back memories. They were memories of his wife reading to him everyday from one of them, of their discussion of the text, of the happy banter begotten from their enjoyment, of the comfort of her company. Their intimacy had grown in this room, had expanded into something neither of them could have ever dreamt of. Learning and discovering together had provided the means to learn and discover each other in ways unfathomable to them before marriage. He, Edward, had learned the vastness of her mind, her endless capacity for understanding, learning, compassion, and it had left him in awe. He had found his match, his equal, if not his superior. All this paralleled the sensual, the physical, the new learning and discovering of each other in their bedchamber, and he marveled at it.

What was more was that it had all happened while he could not see her. The two happiest years of his life had been spent in darkness and dependence upon another, on her. That time spent without the use of his sight had made him reverence and prize the sound of her voice. The piquancy of it, the low, soft accents of it had a poignant effect on him he knew would never change or fade. But now, after months of sight restored, it was still strange to behold her whenever she walked into a room. It was always so unexpected; pleasingly so, but it caused his heart to skip a beat every time, without fail. Those new and precious moments when his eye would connect with hers were beautiful. It was an unexpected novelty. The green depths of them were intense, and they perpetually met his with a fierceness and a loving gaze he knew could only match his own. It was strange to think he had known her longer as a blind man than as a seeing man, but it was true.

Now, as he stood thinking of her, he heard her voice speaking to Mary in the corridor. After a few fleeting moments, she appeared in the doorway, her dressing gown hanging exquisitely over her expecting figure. "Mary has just sent John to town." Edward answered with a vague, inattentive grunt. Jane looked fixedly at his face, her eyes squinted into something like anticipation, her voice full of latent meaning that Edward wasn't quite sure he understood.

He looked at her, his heart fluttering briefly, "We've spent many hours here, Janet, delighting in our seclusion, haven't we?"

"We have." She scuffled lazily over to him and slid her tiny hand around his waist. He embraced her protectively with the handless arm, and, with the other, ran his fingers over the countless patent spines. A few moments passed in silence. Jane quietly suppressed a spasm of pain shooting through her lower back, however it did not go unnoticed by Edward. She attempted to divert his attention for a moment.

Jane glanced at the table. "My book!" She escaped him to saunter over and eagerly pick it up. "Did you look at it?"

He grimaced. "Briefly. I think I finally determined it was something concerning birds." Jane nodded sympathetically. "I don't remember ever having seen it in the collection." Jane smiled. "And you've never read any of it to me."

"I sent out some inquiries on my own to locate a copy." She searched his face for a sign of resentment at her surreptitiousness – she found a frown etched into his brow. Avoiding a squabble over a book, she tried to explain. "I am sorry I kept it from you, Edward. It was simply that I felt it a personal matter. The book has some significance for me, a connection to my childhood."

Edward waited for her to continue. The book didn't seem the sort likely to have made it to as stringent and censorial a school as Lowood. "From your time at Gateshead?" She nodded.

"I used to read it to escape the imminent torment of my cousins. It was one of many, but this one I seem to recall more clearly than others. I cannot be sure what the reason for that is." Edward knew well the torments his wife had faced in her aunt's house as a young girl. Jane had been hesitant to reveal the full extent of the abuse she had suffered, but he gradually coaxed it out of her bit by bit until he finally had an understanding great enough to truly ignite hatred. Their child would know the love they had both lacked as young people. They both vowed that their own child would have a calm, protected youth. Jane placed a tender hand on her belly. "I wanted it for our child."

"Ah, yes. You should sit down, Janet, or perhaps make your way back to bed."

"I will very soon, Edward," she uttered with intimation, "but not just yet."

Very suddenly, Jane felt an overwhelming stab of pain in her back and an anguishing contraction of muscles that had become regular in interval for the two previous hours but had never quite reached this extremity. There she stood, strangely frantic, her face unusually flustered. She gripped the table briefly and then felt herself obliged to sit down as Edward had requested. Her sudden pain became evident to Edward at once, but Jane raised her hand to subdue him and bid him to remain where he stood. The aching dissipated almost as quickly as it had come, and soon her breathing calmed, and her comfort returned to what it was.

Edward spoke urgently, almost angrily, "What is wrong, Jane? Something is wrong; tell me what it is! The time has come, hasn't it? This is what the doctor spoke of – the pain."

Jane walked over and stood in front of him. She nodded and gently, hesitantly ran her fingers through his thick, luxuriant hair. "John has gone for the doctor. I asked that he take his time, but to be sure and come within the next few hours." Edward pulled her down to sit on his knee, as she knew he would. She placed her hand on his face, caressing, feeling what he felt as he took his hand and sought her cheek to lightly brush away her tears, as she knew he would. They engaged themselves in an exchange of touch that put to rest existing qualms and carried them to another quiet moment of intimate placidity.

Edward's heart skipped a beat. Now was the time, he thought, when he should care for her most. She would be bringing into this world a son or daughter – the legacy of their love – which would put to shame any other spiritual or redemptive accomplishments attained by them in their lifetimes.

Edward picked her up. He carried her through the upper floor to their chamber, where he set her down on the bed. Tears still streamed down her face, and he discovered that they had begun to well up in the corners of his eyes as well. _She could die, she could live, they will suffer, and I am helpless._ The conjectures of a helpless lover ran wildly through his mind, unstoppable, overpowering.

"Jane, now is the time for you to rest. We should prepare ourselves for what's to come…whether good or bad." Edward lay beside her and took her hand. Over the next hour, the pain began to grow in intensity. He watched her, praying, pleading, anticipating, longing for it to be over, and, always, eagerly, strangely, waiting to see what would come next.


	3. End

**I'm just experimenting with styles. Let's not have a cow because I used a bunch of big words and complex phrasing.**

Jane breathed erratically, and, through the undulating cycles of pain that coursed through her, she remembered the torments of her past, all the combined, troubled harassments that had tainted her youth, and thought them nothing even closely akin to the joyous agony she experienced at that moment.

Edward sat next to her in a chair next to the bed, his good eye harshly strained out of unprecedented concern. Jane Eyre was exceptional, he had always known that even if she had not, but she was still only human, and the screaming had begun a mere ten minutes before. She cried through her contractions with passion, anticipation, love, terror and tears, and the overwhelming mix of emotions scared Edward with their intensity and their complexity. He held her hand with fortitude, and fought against the doctor's orders that he leave the room. He brushed aside the nurse's blatant disapproval at his unconventional insistence and remained by her side, determined and filled with love for the child to come and awe at his wife's brave and selfless undertaking.

He watched her face while she fought her battle with a certain calm repose. There was nothing more he could do; he understood this and accepted it but not without some feelings of helplessness. It seemed to Edward that, for the father, having a child is a period of experiencing relentless and numerous variations of waiting from conception to birth. When Jane had first told him she was with child, he was exultant, for nothing more could please him so much as a child with Jane Eyre merely months after he had regained his sight, but she had then proceeded to point out, obviously, that it would be another seven months before they would actually see it. This set about the agonized waiting. They waited to see if the pregnancy would hold. Edward waited for her to start to show. They waited for the point when they could commence waiting for labor. And now, Edward found himself waiting again: when would this child be born? When will he see it? When will he see Jane holding it so closely, their child, their creation, a happy legacy incarnate that could carry on their name and pride through another generation.

Time seemed to pass slowly and, at the same time, too quickly in that tiny bedroom. Jane, in her delirious splendor, hardly noticed the people passing to and froe, in and out of the room. Everything but the task at hand, the knowledge of the reward at the end of the journey, and Edward was a blur. Hours passed transiently and insignificantly, and, before she knew it, the doctor was there, and he was working to maintain her attention. "Push!" he said.

Jane Eyre looked at him, so sincere, so stern, and then she looked at her husband whose face was bright, frightened, and shining with tears. 'He shouldn't be here,' she thought. 'I don't want him to see me suffer. I ache with physical weakness and strain, but my heart is singing and embracing the work that brings this child. But he may not understand. I see him and know his sympathy is constant and regretful but guilty because he wants what I want.' Jane did as the doctor commanded. She put aside her concerns and determined to show Edward that all would be well in the end as she had predicted.

Soon the child was born at ten o'clock at night in the autumn three years after their marriage - a boy with a full head of raven hair and eyes so wide and so black that they charmed their parents in an instant. Edward watched with reverence the passing of the miracle which had so long eluded him and only then showed itself at the mark of his midlife. It proved to be the most splendid and beautiful thing he would ever witness. Jane had had a difficult time; she was weary and small, but the child was born healthy. Its loud, ringing cry marked its birth, relieving its parents and setting off the happy laughter and congratulations.

The boy, whom they named for a member of the family, was given immediately to his mother who cooed at him with inexperienced maternal love and smiled more than she could ever remember smiling. Jane met her son and laughed, crying with gratitude. She looked at Edward whose face was rosy where it had, minutes before, been paler than the gray overcast outside. His lips parted as he stared at the tiny body in the bundle at his wife's breast: his son. In the midst of Edward's brief enrapturement, Jane beckoned, with a nod and a smile, for the nurse to take the baby from her and hand him to Edward. Before Edward was able to say anything, the newest little Rochester was placed safely and serenely in his arms. He did not cry or squirm. He opened his eyes wide and stared at his father who gazed back with an intense, renewed sense of wonder that nearly broke him but filled him to the brim with pleasure.

"He looks like me," he said. "Poor bloke." He chuckled. He looked up from his son at his wife. "But he looks like you , too. At least he'll have that."

Edward rose from his chair and sat back down on the bed next to his wife. She looked tired, pale, like she could sleep for days. He bent down, with the child still in his arms, and kissed her. With his good arm he brushed back her hair from her face with tender fingers. Jane looked down at the baby, and noted with pride that this was her family.

This was her family – she and Edward and this new liaison, a product of pure, untainted love, a boy that was an end and a beginning. Their son was between them - small and adored and waited for and peaceful. He yawned a little yawn and closed his eyes. His parents laughed a little laugh, watched him fall asleep. They waited for rest to overcome him and then watched his chest rise and fall in the rapid intervals of infancy. This was a family, waited for by both without them really knowing it.

All was well.


End file.
